


I Know It Gets Hard Sometimes

by nackledamia



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nackledamia/pseuds/nackledamia
Summary: James meets Tommy.ORJames finds out that Thomas is an age regressor.





	I Know It Gets Hard Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [That_Jett_Kid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Jett_Kid/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tommy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513152) by [That_Jett_Kid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Jett_Kid/pseuds/That_Jett_Kid). 



> 1) But I could never leave your side no matter what I say cos if I wanted to go I would have gone by now but I really need you near me to keep my mind off the edge if I wanted to leave I would have left by now but you're the only one that knows me **better than I know myself**
> 
> 2) I use the same trope in all my stories
> 
> 3) I hate Economics

Thomas’ parents were filthy rich.

Thomas could buy his own mansion. He had his own chauffeur. He had a personal tailor making him more suits than he would ever need in a lifetime. He could dine in the finest restaurants everyday, or have the best chefs cook him a personal meal.

Thomas grew up with money and he made sure everyone around him were aware of it.

Thomas bought his spot at one of the top colleges. On the first day of school, Thomas glanced across the lecture hall and met James’ gaze. Studious and cute James who blushed and turned away when Thomas winked at him.

Thomas decided then that James would be his boyfriend. He would pay his way into James’ heart. Anything could be bought with enough money.

Thomas discovered he couldn’t buy James’ affections.

Thomas tried to buy him the finest clothes, the freshest delicacies. James didn’t care about any of those.

Thomas didn’t understand why James didn’t appreciate the expensive things in life, but sure, whatever floats his boat.

Thomas changed his approach. James liked books. Thomas bought him an entire bookstore company. James liked plants. Thomas bought him a garden.

Still, James wasn’t impressed. James didn’t care. James was still uninterested.

It took Thomas two years of raining money on James before he realised that James was interested in _Thomas_ , not Thomas’ _money_. 

Thomas had never let anyone into his real world before. His real life, the one without all the money as a facade.

Beneath the piles of money, Thomas was not the most… stable person.

Thomas’ family might be rich but all that money had to come from somewhere.

It came from a lack of childhood, early involvement in the family business and never-ending stress from business partners.

When Thomas was five, he had dreams of becoming a painter. He was going to be the next Van Gogh. He wanted to have his art in a museum with a guard standing next to it 24/7. All these dreams were ripped to shreds when his family began to involve him in the business.

They took away his humility and replaced it with arrogance. They erased his compassion and replaced it with heartlessness.

Thomas was _moulded_ into the perfect businessman in a cut-throat industry.

James was the only person allowed into Thomas’ stressful internal world. Once through the money facade, James quickly fell for the real Thomas. The nice guy beneath his engineered arrogance. The Thomas with smiles instead of sneers.

Everyone wondered how James could fall in love with an asshole like Thomas but no one else saw the lost boy crying for help through the asshole act.

Thomas moved into James’ apartment to escape his parents and the expectations weighing on his shoulders.

Thomas couldn’t be happier. He much preferred James’ apartment to his mansion. He was closer to James here and there weren’t strangers invading his privacy every five minutes to dust some stupid cabinet.

Thomas overlooked one tiny detail that only came to mind when James caught him doodling on his essay papers.

“What’s that?” James pointed, standing beside Thomas where he was writing his essays at the dining table in the kitchen.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, looked up and beamed. “This is me! I’m a caveman! I’m holding a spear. I’m fighting a dinosaur! Rawr!” Thomas eagerly explained, pointing at various elements of his picture.

“I didn’t know you drew,” James chuckled.

Thomas froze, made aware of the littleness seeping through his thoughts. Adults didn’t draw. Adults had more productive things to do with their limited time. What did he know about adults anyway? They were always rushing and yelling and mean. He was just a little kid-

Thomas tightened his grip on his pen and scribbled over the doodle with harsh lines. He couldn’t fall into little space now. He couldn’t fall into little space anymore.

James’ tiny apartment gave him no space to hide his little side from James.

Thomas trusted James with his life, but he definitely did not trust James with his secret.

“Why did you ruin the picture!” James cried. “I thought it was cute.”

“You liked my picture?” Thomas said, his voice small but bubbling with an undertone of excitement. God, he sounded so _young_.

Thomas dropped the pen and pushed himself away from the papers. The chair screeched against the marble tiles loudly, making him wince at the sound.

“Thomas… you alright?” James rested a gentle hand on his back, squatting so he could look at Thomas’ downcast gaze.

Thomas trembled where he sat, squashing down the littleness in his veins. He just had to focus on his essays for his economics major. Questions like which government policy would benefit a small country dependent on trade with no natural resources undergoing a recession? It wouldn’t be Expansionary Fiscal Policy because the domestic market was too small to boost the GDP through lowered taxes and increased government spending… spending… spending on what?

These were all big adult words. Tommy didn’t know what they meant.

He bit his lips and shook his head hard. His name was _Thomas_ , god damnit.

“Tell you what,” James lowered his voice, “let’s ditch these essay papers and get some ice-cream, yeah?”

“Ice cream?” ~~Tommy~~ Thomas whispered.

“Yeah,” James smiled, “and then you can show me more of your drawings. I bet you keep them all hidden under your bed.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. How did Mr James know? He did have a lot of drawings under his bed. He hid them because-

Thomas stood up, shuddering a little.

James was just trying to help. He didn’t know what he was doing.

“No, I… I’m fine. I just need some time alone. Don’t come into my room for the next… few hours. I’ll come out when I’m ready,” Thomas told him, his voice a little distant.

Thomas stumbled into his room, locking his door with shaky hands before sliding to the ground. Tommy would have to make do with the small space of his room to play in.

\----------

James had seen Thomas in this state before.  
Thomas could be so childish sometimes. He would be distracted by the tiniest things: counting how many red cars there were on the road, echoing James’ sentences in a teasing ‘adult voice’ as Thomas called it, or even just singing a nursery rhyme repeatedly under his breath.

When James reminded him what he was supposed to do, Thomas would shake himself hard and snap back to the matter on hand.

This time, Thomas couldn’t seem to gather himself back.

James tried to be encouraging. He drew Thomas’ attention to the doodle because it was the first time he had seen Thomas doing something creative that wasn’t a mockery or an ironic statement of something else.

Thomas seemed guilty to be caught doodling, almost afraid, even.

James tried to calm Thomas. It was a well known fact that Thomas liked ice cream. James had stocked up on Häagen-Dazs ice cream tubs in the fridge. He was prepared for a movie and ice cream marathon to help Thomas relax. Thomas seemed to like that idea so James pushed it a little further.

“Yeah,” James smiled, “and then you can show me more of your drawings. I bet you keep them all hidden under your bed.”

That had been a wild guess but James must have hit the nail because Thomas brightened-

-then tensed and pushed him away.

“No, I… I’m fine. I just need some time alone. Don’t come into my room for the next… few hours. I’ll come out when I’m ready,” Thomas told him, his voice far away.

James let him go. Thomas needed some time alone. It was obvious that the stress had been piling up lately, with finals coming up and his parents pushing him to close some major business deals.

Thomas’ life was sad, really. James couldn’t imagine what must have pushed him to the point of breaking; what turned him into a fantastic, cold-hearted businessman but a distanced and disconnected human being. If James hadn’t been there to reach through the ice, Thomas would have been an emotionless robot by now- a broken robot, a failed model, a crashing system.

Thomas needed someone to look after him, to teach him to feel again, to show him how to relax. James was here to be that person.

Speaking of Thomas, was that a stuffed dog peeking at him from the kitchen entrance?

“Thomas?” James called. The stuffed dog disappeared from sight, pulled back and hidden behind the wall.

James exited the kitchen and turned to his right where Thomas sat on the floor, wearing his pajamas, whispering to the stuffed dog.

“Thomas?” James said again, softer this time.

Thomas looked up at James and James had to stop himself from taking a step back in shock.

Thomas’ eyes, usually heavy with the truth of the ruthless world they lived in, were now bright and carefree. It made him seem a decade younger.

“Mr James?” Thomas greeted him, his voice gruff but with a light-hearted tone beneath. “Can I have ice-cream now?”

\--------

Tommy didn’t understand why he was locked in the room. He didn’t recall doing anything bad. He had been a good boy and he should be allowed to roam the new apartment he was in!

It was smaller than the big mansion but it was more homely. Tommy liked it. Tommy also liked the guy in the kitchen. Mr James was his name. Mr James had promised ice cream! He also liked Tommy’s drawings!

When Tommy became a world famous painter in the future, he would give his most expensive painting to Mr James. Everyone in the world would be jealous that Mr James was Tommy’s friend.

Tommy struggled to drag out the heavy wooden box from under his bed. Here he kept all his paintings so he could sell it for millions of dollars when he became famous. Billions of dollars! Infinity dollars!

He would let Mr James see his paintings. Mr James would be the only person in the world who had seen Tommy’s paintings before he was famous.

The wooden box was really heavy. Pushing it towards the door made Tommy tired. Maybe he would ask Mr James to help carry the box of paintings out instead. Talking about Mr James, this made Tommy remember that Mr James had promised him ice-cream!

Time to find out if Mr James was a mean, lying adult. Tommy hoped not. Mr James seemed nice so far. Tommy grabbed his best friend Spark from beside his pillow and stomped towards the locked door. Spark was a secret agent. He would know how to get out of the locked room.

Sure enough, Spark effortlessly turned the doorknob and Tommy was free!

Ice-cream!

Not yet. Spark had to first figure out if Mr James was a mean adult.

Tommy hid behind the wall and let Spark peek through the kitchen entrance where Mr James sat at the dining table.

“Thomas?”

Mr James had seen Spark! Time to retreat! Tommy pulled Spark back and turned to run back to his room but Spark stopped him. Spark said Mr James was nice. He was a nice adult. If Tommy would just ask for ice-cream, Mr James would give it to him.

“Thomas?” Mr James was right in front of him. There was no going back now.

Tommy looked up at Mr James and gave him the biggest smile he could muster.

“Mr James?” Tommy asked. “Can I have some ice-cream now?”

Mr James’ face scrunched up like he was going to cry. Oh no, was there no more ice-cream left?

“Of course, Thomas,” Mr James said, and gestured into the kitchen.

“I’m Tommy,” Tommy corrected him then dashed into the kitchen and climbed onto a chair, waiting for his ice cream.

\--------

_Age regression._

James had heard of it. It was a coping mechanism some adults used when life hit them hard. It helped them relax and take their mind off adult matters so they could return to it afterwards with a fresh perspective.

Emphasis on the word _adult_. Thomas was barely an adult! They were still in college, god damnit! They had barely stepped into the real world!

James couldn’t stop his expression from scrunching up at Thomas’ wide, innocent doe eyes and little pout. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. James was outraged at what the world had done to Thomas.

Whatever happened to Thomas in his childhood, James was here to make sure that given this second chance, Thomas would have a better childhood with him.

Thomas seemed startled at James expression. James took a deep breath and calmed himself. Thomas was a child. Of course he would be taken aback by an adult crying. James was the adult now, taking control of this situation.

“Of course, Thomas,” James gestured at the kitchen and Thomas scrambled off the floor and rushed into the kitchen.

“I’m Tommy,” Tommy corrected him.

 _Tommy_. James would commit that to memory.

“How old are you, Tommy?” James continued to ask as Tommy took a seat at the dining table opposite the essays he had been working on.

“I’m five!” Tommy waved an outstretched hand, fingers open wide. “One, two, three, four, five!”

James chuckled and pulled out an entire tub of vanilla ice cream from the fridge and washed a spoon, sliding both in front of Tommy.

“VANILLA!” Tommy announced to the world.

James chuckled and sat beside Tommy, watching silently as he struggled to push the metal spoon into the frozen ice cream. The spoon slipped and flipped out of Tommy’s hands, dropping on the floor.

Tommy looked up at James and his lower lip trembled.

James shifted his gaze to the spoon then back to Tommy, not moving from his seat. James raised a questioning eyebrow at Tommy.

Tommy seemed taken aback at James’ lack of response but swallowed down his tears, his expression hardening.

“I’m a big boy,” Tommy stated, “Big boys don’t cry.”

“That’s right,” James agreed in a soft voice, “What are you going to do?”

Tommy looked around his chair and found nothing to help him. He tried to dig his finger into the tub of ice cream but could only poke the surface of the frozen ice-cream. Finally, Tommy’s eyes lit up with an idea and he leaned down to lick the ice cream directly from the tub, getting his nose and chin full of ice-cream as well.

Well, that was his tub of ice-cream now.

Tommy was five years old, huh? That was the age kids began to learn self-sufficiency. The same age kids learnt to tie their shoes and work zippers and shower themselves.

Why did Thomas revert back to five, of all ages?

Was it the last age he could remember having a childhood?

Did his parents start to train him for the company during his prime years of self-sufficiency, making young Thomas believe that he had to be mean and cold and rude to others to succeed in the world?

Was this why Thomas reverted to 5 when he was still innocent, still nice, still learning to wear his own shoes at a normal pace? Was this Thomas’ brain attempting to reclaim his childhood innocence and natural journey of growing up and learning?

If that was what Thomas needed, that would be what James would give him.

James focused back on Tommy in front of him, melted ice cream dribbling down his chin, sticky fingers rubbed against his pajamas.

“That’s enough ice-cream,” James stood up.

“NO!” Tommy shouted in disagreement, hugging the tub.

“Do you want a tummy ache?” James asked.

Tommy seemed to battle an internal turmoil, then reluctantly placed the tub back on the table, looking away from James, crossing his arms.

“No,” Tommy said again, this time grumbling the word.

“Good boy,” James praised and Tommy seemed to revel with the praise, relaxing a little. “Wash your hands and face then change into a new set of pajamas,” James instructed.

“Can you help me carry my box of paintings out, Mr James?” Tommy asked.

“Of course,” James assured him as he kept the tub of ice cream back in the fridge then followed Tommy to his room. “Stop calling me Mr James. Call me something else.”

“Uncle James!”

“I’m not that old,” James laughed.

“...Daddy James?” Tommy seemed tentative as he suggested that, turning back to face James as he stood at the doorway of his room.

James felt _his_ lower lip tremble as he wrapped Tommy in a hug.

If little Tommy needed a father figure in his life, of course James would be willing to be that for him.

“Just call me Daddy,” James whispered and Tommy nodded vigorously over his shoulder before pulling from the hug and running into the bathroom to wash his face.

\--------

James and Tommy sat side by side on the couch, rummaging through the wooden box of drawings (“Paintings!” Tommy insisted) that Tommy had hid under his bed. Spark the stuffed dog was positioned between them so he could see everything.

“What’s this?” James pulled a drawing out of the box. It seemed to be a picture of cows in a farm but the cows were dying in a fire. It startled and worried him slightly.

“That one is called ‘Beef’,” Tommy told James, as serious as a 5-year-old could be.

“What inspired this?” James continued to prompt.

“Cows die to give us beef,” Tommy explained patiently.

James smiled and patted his head. That was a disturbing piece of drawing but perhaps Tommy did not fully grasp the severity of death yet.

“Daddy, which painting do you like the most?” Tommy finally perked up and asked.

“Hmm,” James sieved through the pictures, then placed them back in the box. “Actually, I like the one you drew today. Can you draw that for me again?”

“The one with the dinosaurs and me?” Tommy slid off the couch in search for paper and crayons.

“That’s it,” James nodded as Tommy came back with an A4 sheet of paper and substitute coloured pens. He sat back next to James and placed the paper on his lap, clicking the ballpoint pen.

James made a mental note to buy some crayons.

“Daddy, you’re watching a future famous painter at work!” Tommy announced, starting to draw his stickman carefully.

“Yeah? You’re going to be so famous,” James agreed, watching Tommy draw the rectangle and the triangle on the top, meant to be a spear.

“I’m going to sell my paintings for a lot a lot of money! Infinity dollars!” Tommy declared, scribbling a shape that was going to be the T-rex in the picture.

“That’s right!” James encouraged the little boy, the smile on his face hiding the sinking feeling in his chest.

Thomas had been a child with wild dreams. James hated the knowledge that when Thomas aged up again, he would remember that he was a businessman and nowhere near a creative career.

When Tommy was done, he held the picture up for James, grinning wide, proud with his work.

“I’m going to put this on the fridge,” James told Tommy, whose grin only grew in response.

The smile quickly became a yawn.

“I’m tired,” Tommy finally mumbled after a long day of ice cream and looking at his drawings. “Will you read me a story?”

“Of course, Tommy,” James told him and Tommy stumbled off the couch and into the kitchen, rummaging Thomas’ forgotten bag on the floor.

Tommy pulled out ‘France: An in-depth look into their Economy’ and chucked it to the corner of the room. He rummaged a little more and pulled out a slightly larger but much thinner book.

Tommy came back and rested against James’ side, placing ‘France: Attractions, food and culture!’ on James’ lap.

“I wanna go to France one day,” Tommy mumbled as James opened the book.

“We will,” James promised, making a mental note to bring Thomas there somehow.

“I know how to count to five in French,” Tommy smiled sleepily, “because I’m five. I will learn a new number every year. When I’m one hundred, I will know how to count to one hundred! That’s a big number!”

“Count for me, Tommy,” James closed the book as Tommy’s eyelids lowered. He wouldn’t be needing to read the story anymore.

Tommy nuzzled into James’ side and lifted a tired hand to count.

“Un.” Tommy held out one finger.

“Deux.” Tommy held out two fingers.

“Trois.” Tommy held out four fingers instead of three.

Tommy’s hand dropped to the sofa as he fell asleep.

\--------

Thomas woke up pressed against James’ side. What was he doing here on the couch with James? God, the day had been so fuzzy for him. He couldn’t remember anything beyond the economics essay question he was supposed to complete. Did he complete it? Thomas couldn’t recall.

“Tommy?” James called as he stirred awake beside Thomas, turning to look at him.

Tommy? Thomas smiled. He wished he was Tommy again. Life was so much simpler when he was a child. How did James know he used to be called Tommy as a kid? Thomas didn’t recall ever telling him.

Unless he did.

Thomas jerked upright, fully awake. He looked down at the pajamas he was wearing. He looked at the stupid children's book on James’ lap. He saw the stuffed dog squashed between him and James. His worst fears had come true.

\---------

James only realised that he too had fallen asleep when Tommy shifted beside him, stirring awake.

“Tommy?” was James’ immediate response. He turned to look at Tommy, still blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes. Tommy gave a dazed little smile, before a thought seemed to creep in his mind and the smile fell.

There was a sudden rush of awareness in his eyes. A sudden heaviness of reality and truth. He jolted up straight and looked down at himself then at the book in James’ lap and finally at Spark between them. He then buried his face in his hands.

“Thomas?” James amended.

“I’m so sorry, James, I’m so weird, I should have controlled myself better-” Thomas rambled on.

“Thomas,” James raised his voice just slightly, and his volume change made Thomas pause. “I really enjoyed looking after Tommy and I’ll do it as many times as I have to.”

“Really?” Thomas whimpered, lowering his hands, not meeting James’ eyes, a hint of smallness in his voice.

“Really,” James affirmed and wrapped Thomas in a hug. Thomas relaxed ever so slightly in his embrace.

“You’re the best, Jemmy,” Thomas said in response, shifting and returning his hug.

The way Thomas nuzzled his face in James’ neck made James think that both Thomas and Tommy were present right then in different degrees; both his favourite person in the world, both someone he would protect with his life.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! :)
> 
> After commenting, click the 'TOP' button below and read the original story that inspired this!!! I LOVE THAT SERIES SO MUCH


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